


The Villain's Path to the Power of Love

by ChainSmokesPens



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Flash Fic, Romance, Superheroes, Supervillains, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainSmokesPens/pseuds/ChainSmokesPens
Summary: [WP] After repeatedly losing to the powers of love and friendship villains have decided to try to harness that power for themselves. They started a dating site and you're on your first date. Things are going well, until your arch nemesis barges in thinking this is another one of your plans.





	The Villain's Path to the Power of Love

So, look, this is what happened.  
I couldn’t tell you how many lives were lost when we fought the Alliance that day. I don’t remember how many times we narrowly dodged a civilian casualty, how many buildings we toppled, how many heroes and villains were lost. When it all came to a head, only seven stood on each side.  
I remember scanning over the rows of heroes, ready to pounce at whichever so much flinched. But then King Chrome stepped out of line.  
That flashy suit he was so proud of was dented, scratched and burned to shit, he hid his limp as best as he could, and his eyes didn’t waver from the line of heroes in front of him.  
I looked across the battlefield to my nemesis, One, the Last of the Atlanteans. He once claimed that when they broke the laws of nature, had their country drowned in the depths of the Atlantic, and had their history wiped from the collective conscience of all humanity, that their spirits remained and amassed into a great power.  
One had that power. His memories, his strength, his moral code, all of it was from the collective will of a dead continent.  
I had been proud to call him my rival for the past five years.  
But, as his eyes were fixed on whatever King Chrome’s next move was, I held my breath and pulled my eyes over to the boss, waiting to see what he was planning, hoping he wouldn’t lay a hand on my nemesis.  
Then, King Chrome removed his helmet.  
He gave his name and age, where he worked, and what he fought for.  
Everyone was stunned into silence. After all, King Chrome, the Silver Devil, the genius philanthropist behind the Pitch Brotherhood, was a twice over college dropout who worked as an intern in the Mayor’s office.  
He said that he had friends and family and a wife at home worrying about him. He pointed out all the destruction around us and proposed a ceasefire. Everyone was tired, everyone needed to make sure their loved ones were okay. He argued back and forth with the heroes for an hour, debating why they shouldn’t just arrest him on the spot, declaring that they were still strong enough to take him, claiming that the destruction around us was our fault and not theirs.  
Then Evernight stepped up from the hero’s side. And he revealed his identity.  
The tightening in my chest stopped. There was finally some leverage on both sides. We could all actually walk away from this peacefully.  
And then fucking Hoplite stepped forward and revealed his identity, which drove me crazy for two reasons.  
First, we could always see his stupid fucking face through his stupid fucking helmet, so the reveal added nothing to anything going on, except maybe to suck off his own ego.  
Second, it encouraged another hero to step up and reveal their identity.  
At the end of the day, seven heroes, seven villains, all fourteen of us, knew exactly who the others were. Everyone had leverage.  
Each side, holding power over their specific side of the law, was sworn to secrecy.  
And everyone went home.  
A month had passed and there weren’t any big-name heroes or villains running around. Some folks thought the heroes stopped their patrols because there weren’t villains to capture. Others thought the villains were committing crimes because there were no heroes to challenge. Sometimes a shitty C-list villain would try and rob a museum dressed as a giant chocolate bar or something, and then a shitty C-list hero dressed as a toothbrush wielding a dental floss lasso would stop him.  
Otherwise, it all went back to cops and robbers.  
Me and a few members of the Pitch Brotherhood met up a few times over the next few weeks. We couldn’t believe what had happened that day. And you know how things get. You’re drinking, you see a crime on the TV in the bar and talk about how you would’ve done it without getting caught, and then you have an epiphany.  
See, the heroes were always open and honest about what it was they loved, believed in, and fought for. And those same things were always recited by the press when they’d get in the news. Somehow, we came to the conclusion that maybe we’d get a better reputation if we found somethings to love and care about.  
And that’s how I ended up spending the next three days of my life glued to dating apps.  
I downloaded Blaze. I loved all the sex, but didn’t feel like any of the girls were dating material. Especially the one that stole my wallet.  
I downloaded Cross-Shaped Heart, but religious girls weren’t really my thing. And they didn’t put out like girls on Blaze. I went back to Blaze for a bit.  
I downloaded Wedding Bells. The girls on there were even more intense than the ones on Cross-Shaped Heart. So, naturally, I went back to Blaze.  
I downloaded The Cave at Hoplite’s suggestion. I learned two things from that experience. One, I learned what a bear was. Two, I learned that Hoplite thought I was gay.  
Things finally settled down when I downloaded Venus. The girls seemed like actually people, interested in a decent commitment without being super clingy, and may or may not be down to fuck; if yes, great, if no, maybe on date two. And after heading back to Blaze for a bit.  
I talked with Sophie for two months before she agreed to go on a date with me.  
Meeting her outside of La Nourriture for dinner, I had to admit I lucked into a better girl than I expected. She was one of the prettier girls I’d met through online dating, she was friendly and funny, wasn’t afraid to disagree with me, and could actually keep a conversation going. She also had a habit of asking you to explain things in a way that made it seem like she really cared about what you had to say.  
I’m not so macho that I can’t admit that when she greeted me with a kiss on the cheek my heart melted a little.  
We’d just walked in and just sat down. Hadn’t even met our waiter yet, when some random broad approaches and screams Sophie’s name and comes running over to our table. I’m about to get pissed when Sophie got up and hugged her, apparently it was her cousin Dalia.  
If Sophie was a nine than Dalia was a thousand. Long hair, thick lips, huge tits, and a cool tattoo on her shoulder.  
A familiar tattoo.  
A familiar tattoo of five woman intertwined going from her elbow to her shoulder.  
That’s when it hit me. I knew who Dalia was. And when I managed to pull my eyes from her boobs and saw her staring me down, I knew she knew who I was too. And that she knew that I knew who she was. Even without touching me.  
She was Muse.  
Muse’s ability, by the way, is that she’s able to telepathically like with something by touching them. And if she opens a conversation, then you can talk back.  
Also, a strange aside of her power was enough physical strength to punch a hole in an adult rhino from tip to tail. I’d seen it before; it was fucked up to watch. It was one of those rare white ones, too.  
She quit the Pitch Brotherhood the previous year, deciding to settle for a life that didn’t explain all the blood to her drycleaner, and got the tattoo to remember her time with us. There were tears and hugs and well-wishes and an orgy of blood-filled chaos as we decimated the streets in her honor and cake.  
And right now, she saw that I was on a date with her cousin, glaring at me with those icy green eyes. God, I wanted that bitch to step on me.  
And when she called her boyfriend over to the table, I nearly shat myself.  
He looked a few inches shorter, wore his hair differently, and had on a super thick pair of glasses, but I could tell who it was. If not for the unmasking three months before, I’d never recognized One in public.  
She introduced him as Darryl, an elementary school teacher who was writing a screenplay in his free time. The fact that he was a teacher was made clear at the reveal, but he’d never said anything about writing a screenplay. That pissed me off. If he had the idea to recount his adventures as a hero and pass it off as some sort of creative masterpiece, he had another thing coming.  
That asshole Hoplite demanded my only copy of my screenplay about my adventures as a villain that I wanted to pass off as a creative master piece last year and hadn’t returned it yet or even given me any feedback. I know that bastard lost it, and it would take forever to replicate because I couldn’t control my burgeoning genius and handwrote all eight-hundred pages on specialty paper that cost roughly four-fifty a sheet.  
I got pretty nervous when One looked down at me.  
He shot me a charming smile, we exchanged greetings, and he extended his hand.  
I hesitated. I fought him constantly for the last five years and he’d finally seen me unmasked just a few months prior. What if he used this as his chance to take me out? I gingerly grabbed his hand and shook it.  
He chuckled, told me I had the limp grasp, and muse playfully smacked him.  
And then the waitress came to us, finally, and then made the assumption that we’d all be eating together. So of course, they joined us so that Dalia could catch up with her cousin.  
Admittedly, One was good at keeping a conversation going. He kept probing me with questions, obviously; I was apparently the only stranger at the table. But the way he asked questions left plenty of room to expand on. And he was courteous enough to kind of facilitate the flow of my date in a pretty good direction. It was pretty nice.  
Or it would have been if I couldn’t stop focusing on how Muse kept holding his hand. I knew she was talking to him about me. I could see it in her eyes.  
Then, it happened.  
I cracked a joke to make Sophie laugh. Sophie giggled. One chuckled. Muse, apparently, found it so fucking hilarious that she burst out laughing and reached a mile across the table to tap my arm.  
The music in the restaurant got quiet, the interior grayed, and time ground to a stop. I could hear Muse in my head. And she wasn’t happy.  
I explained, honestly that I was just on a date and hadn’t gotten up to anything. That Sophie was nice and I felt there was a genuine connection. Muse was skeptical, but accepting.  
I pride myself on not being a snitch. I once lost a leg because I refused to snitch—luckily, it grew back. Were this a normal conversation, and were I able to control my mouth, I wouldn’t have said this. But, because she was directly in my mind and able to hear anything that was at the forefront of it, I uncontrollably asked if she knew that she was dating One.  
I was stunned. She said yes.  
He also knew that she was formerly Muse. They knew what each other’s powers were. They were talking about me the entire night. And, probably because she could hear all my thoughts about her breasts, she said that she knew she would leave after dinner the main course so that she could go back to his place and eat dessert off each other.  
Moving past clouds of erotic imagery, and the inevitable truth that I’d be jacking off to it later, she found the question I had about what specifically they were saying about me. She told me that I seemed like a nice guy, if a bit too ugly to be dating Sophie.  
I asked if that was it. She said yes.  
I was confused and asked if he knew who I was.  
She said he had no idea who I was.  
I went blank. My mind itself went silent at what she’d said.  
Muse took that as the end of the conversation and pulled her from me, finishing her laugh a bit more robotically than it started.  
One didn’t know who I was? We saw each other unmasked. It was only three months ago, there were only seven fresh faces to remember. Did it not even click back into place for him when he saw me again?  
Who the fuck did he think he was? I was his nemesis. Not some bank robber he’d down with a one-two combo, toss in a jailcell, and never see again. I was his nemesis! I devoted two to three days a week to messing with him for the last five father-fucking years. And this is what he thinks of me? Nothing? Fucking nothing?  
Was it because I wasn’t writing him some lame limericks and dropping them all over the city to solve like some sort of asshole C-lister who got the short straw on the day when he had to pick a theme? Is it because I didn’t stalk him and know literally every facet of every action he took in every crime he ever stopped; because I didn’t know the exact number of times his heart had beat or how many hairs were growing out of his fat ass?  
Was he staring at King Chrome, or should I say Orville, the whole time during our exchange?  
I guess it’s my fault for not being a freak of nature science experiment with the strength to punch Washington’s face off of Rushmore. I guess it’s my fault for not being some tragic basket case with perfectly fine mental health. I guess it’s my fault for not inheriting a trillion dollars from my dead grandad and using it to building a gaudy silver suit, flying over cities on a jetpack and launching rockets from my cock.  
What was I supposed to do now? Rob Fort Knox? Blow up the Vatican? Eat a baby? Fuck the elderly woman who adopted him?  
That was the bullshittiest bullshit I’d ever heard. What a fucking asshole!  
Apparently, I was a little too quiet for a little too long. Muse took the time to reach across the table and shake me back to reality.  
When the world grayed again, she took the time to tell me that if I fucked her cousin, she’d grab me by the throat, leap into the air, and toss me into the turbine of a passing plane.  
And that’s why I went back to Blaze.

**Author's Note:**

> One of my first attempts at not being first, but being good. I want to try picking posts earlier in the day, letting the ideas marinate for a few hours, and then write them. As opposed to picking out from among the newer ones exclusively to be the earliest contributor to a topic or challenge.


End file.
